


Touching Words

by banshee_in_the_dark



Series: Lazy Lover Series [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1523231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banshee_in_the_dark/pseuds/banshee_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia's trouble sleeping continues. Phone sex ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touching Words

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies! As promised, this is now a series so be on the lookout for more updates. Hope you like it!

“This is ridiculous. I should just let you sleep. I’m sorry.”

On the other side of the line Stiles chuckles softly. God, what is she even doing? She’s huddled under her covers tense as a rock and with anxiety gnawing at her while he’s probably wishing she would hang up so he could sleep. She never should’ve called him.

“I’ll stay up all night to keep you company,” he says seriously and Lydia relaxes a bit. He doesn’t sound mad or annoyed at all that she’s bothering him. She can picture him so well right now in her mind’s eye.

Legs sprawled, covers kicked back, impatient fingers never resting fiddling with the edge of the new wallpaper in his room. The walls are now a soothing seaweed green, a color she helped him pick, and they’re bare, uncluttered by dozens of grim newspaper articles and pieces of evidence and yards of red string. They’re a clean canvas now, a place for him to create, to pick up the pieces of himself and put them back together. 

There’s probably a lazy smile smacked on his face, the one he gets when he allows himself to relax and lets go for a little while of the burden of guilt Void left him with. “What about you? Are you gonna be alright tonight?” Lydia asks, worrying her lip. She might be the one with persistent trouble sleeping, but this is the first night Stiles will spend back in his bedroom all alone since… Well since he stabbed his mattress with a pair of scissors and went off to die of exposure on a cave. It isn’t a stretch to think the familiar surrounding might bring back bad memories.

She hears rustling on the other side of the line. He’s shaking his head, she bets. “Don’t worry about me. You’re the one who needs to catch up on sleep.”

“Don’t see that happening tonight,” she whines, glowering at her ceiling. “Not without –” 

Lydia blushes when she realizes what she almost said, and irrationally hides her face behind her hands. There’s no one in the room to witness her embarrassment and the boy on the other end of the line knows exactly what she meant.

She hears a soft groan escape him. “Not without… my help?” he supplies.

It’s her time to groan, but hers it’s a more pained one. Perfect. Her embarrassment is now complete.

“Last night was something special right?” Stiles asks. His voice is steady and sure, but she detects an undertone of unease, awkward insecurity bleeding through.

Last night. The night she allowed Stiles Stilinski to touch her and bring her to a mind-shattering orgasm in order to relax her enough to fall asleep. The night she, Lydia Martin, discovered the wicked dexterity of Stiles’ fingers. The night that has changed everything between them.  
She swallows hard. “Yeah,” she whispers. “It was.”

Lydia grins, pressing her cool hand to her burning cheeks and failing to slow her pounding heart as memories of the night before flooded her senses. 

After she came she was too far gone to reciprocate the favor so she’d sleepily vowed that she’d make Stiles see stars of his own when morning came. She woke up before her alarm, but just barely, and was pleasantly surprised that she had in fact, slept through the night. She hadn’t felt so rested in weeks. Another pleasant surprise was Stiles curled up behind her, his hardness cradled against her bottom. She’d wake him up wiggling against him, stir him slowly then when he was cognizant she’d push him flat on his back and show him just how much she appreciated the ‘kindness’ he bestowed upon her last night.

Her plan was shot to hell though, by none other than her mother. After years of negligent ignorance, she now decided she didn’t want any funny business under her roof and promptly asked a very confused and sleep addled Stiles to go home. To make matters worse, Sheriff Stilinski put his foot down and told Stiles in very plain terms that if he was splurging on a new bed and mattress to replace the one Void assaulted, he was damn well going to sleep in it. 

So with her mom breathing down her neck and his dad adamant that he spent the night at home, going so far as to check up on him through the security camera installed in Stiles’ room, Lydia and Stiles were left with no other option than to sleep separately for the first time since Allison’s funeral. They thought they could make it through the night but it wasn’t long before Lydia called him, unable to sleep, and found him just as awake as her.

She sighs, running her free hand on the cold, empty space next to her on the bed, the side Stiles claimed as his own. She misses him. She wants him there, hearing his even breathing, feeling the warmth he radiates. Their first nights together they made a conscious effort to keep their distance, but their resolve ebbed away in the dead of night and he welcomed her with open arms when she snuggled closer to him until not an inch of space was left between them. Then in the morning they’d pretend it didn’t happen, only to go for a repeat at nightfall. It was like they had an unspoken agreement where they didn’t talk about the very real, raging need to touch one another. But it was there and they knew it.

Now things had changed, and Lydia for one couldn’t help but feel it was for the better.

“I miss you,” Lydia confesses, shakily.

Stiles’ breathing stops, then comes out all at once. “I wish I was there with you,” he says hoarsely.

Heat pools low in Lydia’s belly. She stammers, breathless “W-what… what would you… do… if you were here?”

There’s a beat of silence while he processes what she just asked him.

Lydia herself can’t believe she did it. Much like masturbation, phone sex is not exactly within the limits of her comfort zone. Jackson would occasionally ask her to talk him through while he jerked off back when they were dating and although she performed admirably, Jackson wasn’t particularly good at reciprocating so she’d put both of them out of their misery and fake an orgasm and got it over with as soon as possible. 

But it was different with Stiles. Everything is different with him. He might not be there physically with her, but she can still feel him. His voice reaches out to her and touches her deeply.

“I’d kiss you,” he rasps finally. “I’d spend a long time just kissing your lips, convincing you to open up to me. Showing you how much I’ve always wanted you.”

A rush of heat and wetness shoots straight to Lydia’s pussy and her free hand settles unwittingly low on her stomach, rubbing lazy circles around her navel to the rhythm of his even voice.

“Then, your neck. There’s a spot just under your chin where you’re so soft Lydia, I couldn’t get enough of it,” she shivers, closing her eyes and wiggling impatiently. “I’d want to mark you,” he confesses, his voice a rough whisper. “Would you let me?”

“Y-yes,” Lydia breathes, writhing against her sheets. Her hand trails up to cup her breast, finding it swollen and heavy and her nipple poking out against the cotton of her night shirt (which happens to be one of Stiles’ tee shirts).

He groans and she hears a thud coming from his end of the line, as if he banged his head against something.

“I’d do it then, right there where you’re the softest, where everyone could see it, so every time you saw it in the mirror you’d remember I gave it to you.”

“Stiles.”

“I’d strip every stich of clothing off you and kiss you everywhere.” Her back arches and her hips buckle searching for a friction that isn’t there. Her hand flies down and settles heavily over her covered pussy. “I’d leave your panties on though. I didn’t get enough of you last night, so if I was there with you right now I’d touch you through those sensible granny panties I know you love to sleep on until they were drenched and ruined and I could just wring your juices off them when I finally take them off.”

Her fingers travel under the edge of her panties and she whimpers helplessly when she finds she’s as wet as he described. 

“Are you touching yourself Lydia?” he groans.

“Wh-what?” she gasps, fingers rubbing her slit.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Stiles says, his voice knowing. “Bare pussy lips, silken folds, your slick wetness gushing out of you.” She hears him swallow greedily. “Touch your clit for me.”

With a low, guttural moan escaping her, Lydia presses her thumb to her clit and strokes tight, frantic circles over it. Her hips arch off the bed and she clamps her thighs around her hand desperately. “Stiles, please,” she pants.

“I wish I could taste you,” he sounds out of breath himself. The thought of him listening to the absolutely obscene sounds she’s making, stroking his cock and making himself come thinking of her is the last push Lydia needed. She clenches hard around her hand, dropping her phone and muffling her scream on her pillow as she convulses helplessly with spasm after spasm.

“Lydia?”

The faint voice pulls her back from her near blackout and with a listless hand Lydia reaches for her forgotten phone where a worried Stiles keeps calling her name and presses it against her ear, her body limp and spent. “Mmhh?”

“Are you okay?” Lydia mumbles something incoherent and Stiles chuckles lightly. “That good huh?”

He stays of the line until her breathing evens out and she’s capable of rational thinking once again. “Thank you,” she says quietly, shivering.

“No need for thanks,” his breath whooshes out and he gives a shy, short-lived bark of laughter. “If anything, I should be thanking you.”

A wide grin splits across Lydia’s face. “So it was… good for you too?”

“Ah –uh, I didn’t really –No. ” He says finally, then continues before she has a chance to protest. “This was about you, for you.” 

The sincerity in his soft voice melts her all over again. “But you could’ve –”

“Maybe some other time,” he says lightly, hiding himself behind a wall of humor.

“Definitely,” Lydia states, resolute. Twice has Stiles Stilinski given her unquestionable pleasure and gotten nothing in return. He is in for a treat. “Goodnight Stiles,” she smiles, cuddling warmly under her covers and thinking of all the naughty things she wants to do to him.

“Night Lyds. Sweet dreams.”


End file.
